Traffic Jam
by Pepper's Ghost
Summary: Russia picks up America at the airport. They get stuck in bad traffic. Things happen. Based on a BBC News story.


Title: Traffic Jam

Summary: Russia picks up America at the airport. They get stuck in bad traffic. Things happen.

Disclaimer: Just playing around here. The writing is my own but the inspiration comes from elsewhere.

Warning: semi-public urination, occasional curse words, humiliation, and real life problems. This is a bit of a rush job on my part but timeliness is an important factor here.

Based on "What Muscovites get up to in traffic jams," by Steven Rosenberg, BBC News, January 30, 2013.

X

The airport terminal was utterly packed.

So many people. So many languages.

And everything was Russian.

America thanked his lucky stars that he just happened to be taking care of some things on the West Coast when he had gotten the call from his boss. The call, while not overly unusual, has sent him across the Pacific all the way to Moscow to meet with Russia. America had been awake for a bit too long to remember the details clearly. Something about improving deteriorating relations and drugs. Or maybe he's just making up the drugs part. Because of time zone's he a bit off. The bright lights of the airport aren't helping things much.

Fortunately, America traveled like the best of them and a short little 9-hour flight was nothing compared to travel time in the past. Like a total pro he made his way to the baggage claim. He did not wind up in the wrong airport wing. He did not trip on the stairs. He did not utilize what he could drum up of his angry Russian when a big burly dude got in his way at the luggage turnstile and he had to wait for his stuff to go around the loop again.

Bags finally in hand, America exited the airport.

It didn't take him long to find Russia. For whatever reason Russia always picked him up at the airport. Every time. He insisted on it. Still, at least Russia always stood in the same exact spot for America to find him.

Russia broke into a grin at seeing America exit the building and stumble toward him. The action was common because America's glasses never failed to fog up when drastically changing temperatures. America was always so easy to pick out from a crowd because he wore such ostentatious clothing. Sure it was winter but America really did not need a bright red, puffy jacket plus a neon green stocking cap and an inordinately long, multicolored scarf. Combined with his backpack (no doubt showing off the latest superhero of America's fancy), vintage briefcase and a hard shelled, rolling black and white cameo print suitcase America could not have blended in if his life deepened on it.

"Ah my sunflower!" Russia said. "You have arrived at last."

"Ivan. You are creepy. C'mon let's go."

X

They hit traffic almost immediately.

At first it wasn't so bad. America was no stranger to gridlock. His arteries can clog with the best of them. But as soon as Russia pulled the parking break he knew that this was a whole other beast.

Then Russia fished around and produced a ball of yarn and knitting needles.

"You've got to be kidding me," America said. His head fell back onto the headrest and he let out a groan of despair.

"Is it really so bad to just slow down for a while?" said Russia.

"Yes."

"Well, you are in for a rude surprise," said Russia. "These jams can last for several hours. This is one of the problems of Moscow." He had yet to fully regard America. Instead the needles flew in his hands.

The soft clack of Russia's work permeated the car. It was repetitive and soothing. America broke in after only a few minutes.

"You planned this."

Russia said nothing.

"I know you did," America continued.

More silence.

"I bet your boss is in on it too."

Russia still did not respond.

"I'll give you points for creativity but no traffic jam is gonna to get me down because I'm the hero and I can handle anything!"

America made to grab for his phone but as he dug into his pocket he realized it wasn't there. His smug attitude instantly evaporated and a tinge of worry graced his features. Frantically he began to search his other pockets for the boredom-saving device.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

His phone was not in his pants or in his coat or hidden in any of his other layers. He had even checked his shoes on the off chance that it was there.

Russia was nonplused at the partial strip tease. He just continued on knitting away.

Russia's serenity was off set by America's rapid breathing. America's eyes were wide as he tried to process the absence of his phone. He would occasionally pat himself down again just to confirm that the device was gone. This was very bad news.

"Dude," said America. His voice was a bit shaky so he swallowed and tried again. "Ivan, I can't find my phone."

It is a rare occasion for America to be visibly out of sorts over something so trivial. America's entire body is absolutely rigid. He's staring with a gaze so intense that Russia has to fight the urge not to press himself up against the door as far away from his traveling companion as he can. A worried American is the worst kind of American to deal with.

"I am missing my phone," America says. Already America's hands are slowly creeping toward Russia. It is only a matter of seconds before America will begin to shake the other in an effort to hasten his phone's retrieval.

"No your not," says Russia. The line is delivered calmly. The tone gives America pause. The crazy gleam in his eyes slips away and a more pleading, curious gaze takes its place. While it is still uncomfortable to have all of America's attention the crisis has been mostly averted. Before America can say anything Russia continues,

"I seem to recall you stuffing your phone in your backpack when we met up."

America pulls back so that he is again fully seated on his side of the vehicle. His eyes drill a hole into the floor as he tries to piece out the series of events Russia is talking about. He slumps a bit when he realizes that Russia is right.

His backpack is in the trunk.

His phone is in the trunk.

America quickly twists in his chair to look at the back seat to see if there is a trunk hatch so he can get to his phone.

There isn't one.

He lets out a small cry.

Russia chooses to remain silent as he pulls the car forward another inch.

Not one to be defeated for too long America spins back around and makes for the door. His hands get all the way to the handle when he realizes there is no space to open the door. The gridlock is so tight that there is no way he can get to the trunk. He is not above climbing out of the sunroof except the car doesn't have one.

His phone is in the trunk and he is here without it.

That is how it will stay.

Again America makes a sound of defeat and rests his head against the window. As the tension bleeds out of his body and the hopelessness sets in he slumps down. The driver in the car next to them shoots America a perplexed look and tries to give him a smile. In his world of self-pity America is not consoled.

"Sit up," says Russia. "You are getting grease marks on my window."

America sighs and rights himself but the damage is done and the window is smudged.

In a fit of contained dramatics America continues to slump in his seat to the point where his head is where his back should be. Russia has returned to knitting and only occasionally rolls his eyes at America's antics.

X

"…fred…"

"Alf…"

"Alfred."

"Fredika you mustn't fall asleep."

"Oh precious sunflower – "

America's eyes snap open and he nearly chokes himself on his seatbelt when he sits up. He rubs his eyes and makes to put his head in his hands at his stupidity but his previous sudden move with the seatbelt has put it in a locked position.

He hates this.

"Alfred if you fall asleep you will never get on the right time zone," says Russia.

"I know. I know," America responds. Looking around America can tell that they haven't moved very far at all. "Fuck I'm bored."

America levels Russia with a withering glare as if the gridlock was all Russia's fault and putting his backpack in the trunk was Russia's fault too. Actually, everything is Russia's fault, America decides.

"Come now," says Russia. "This is the perfect time to think about important thoughts or to get things done."

Only then does America notice that Russia has managed to produce a rather nice sock. It's one of the super fluffy types that cost an arm and a leg at the store. It's a very pretty blue-green. Already Russia is nearly halfway done with its matching counterpart.

"See, look over there," Russia says. America's attention is drawn to where Russia is pointing. A man a few cars over is working on a business document.

"Or over there," says Russia again pointing behind him this time. America swivels and sees a woman grading a stack of papers that are cluttering her dashboard. The woman notices America staring at her. America begins to blush a bit at realizing he's been caught but the woman just smiles and waves at him. He waves back and turns around when she starts to giggle at him.

"I don't get it," says America.

"What's not to get?" Russia says. "Gridlock is a fact of life. This is the perfect time for some enforced 'you' time. It is simply another part of the day and the people deal with it in creative ways."

America listens but mostly zones out in the direction of the window. All around him people are doing things in their cars and not looking too putout at being stuck.

X

It is not long after when America makes a move to turn on the car's radio. He might not feel up for listening to a yammering Russian talk show but anything is better then the endless clack of Russia's knitting needles.

So America starts channel hopping. He gives each station a very short chance to catch his fancy – just long enough for his arm to fall back to his armrest before he decides he wants a different station. He stops on nothing. Russia is not amused. When America passes a classical station Russia moves immediately to change the station back. Rising to the challenge, America purposefully re-tunes to a different station. Only for Russia to turn it back again.

"I believe the saying in your country is 'driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his face,'" said Russia with a particularly vicious jab to the radio's dials.

"No you've got the quote wrong," says America as he turns to a random different station. "Besides, I am a guest; I get to chose."

The civility of the station changing begins to deteriorate rapidly after that.

Russia wants to continue his relaxing confinement. America just wants to do something and if that means pestering the snot out of Russia then so be it.

Before long the knitting needles are discarded and Russia and America are all out trying to play keep away with a stationary object. It is difficult because both are still strapped in to the car's chairs but they manage to utilize hands and elbows just enough to increase the competition.

They are at a stale mate for a good while. Each trying their hardest to reach the dial and the other attempting to keep them away from it. The radio is blaring static more then anything as one will gain an edge and a hand will slide across the tuning knob.

The struggle is intense.

CRUNCH!

The car goes completely silent. Both nations stare at where America's finger has gone completely through the radio.

"You killed my radio," says Russia. The malice isn't there yet but it is only a matter of time before it sinks in that America broke a part of Russia's car.

America still can't quite believe that their playful antics broke something. He removes his finger from the radio but bits of it tinkle off and the whole device cracks nearly in half.

America becomes acutely aware that he is alone in a car in a foreign country and completely boxed in by traffic.

"America~" Russia says.

America's doomed.

He knows he's doomed.

This is not a good place to be.

At least there are witnesses.

"What are you going to do about this America?"

America can't decide if the invitation is for more damnation or a shot at salvation.

"Look," says America. It is Russia's turn to melt his face off with an intense stare. "I can fix it." America goes to reach for the front piece of the radio but the minute he touches it again the whole face cracks in half and falls off completely leaving the partially mangled innards exposed. "Fuck."

"Something tells me that it cannot be fixed America," says Russia.

"No, no, no. By fix it I mean put in a new one," America says. He tries to look Russia in the eyes when he says it but he's not feeling up for facing the man head on when he is clearly in the fault.

"I'm used to fixing cars and stuff," America rushes along. "I've worked with this model before and it will be easy for me to change out the stereo system. All we hafta do is go online and send the parts to your house and I can swap it out for the new one. It will be even better then before. You'll see."

At the end of his speech America makes to look at Russia. Russia is smiling at him. He doesn't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. America swallows and waits for Russia to respond to his proposal. The silence draws on and he fidgets in his seat looking at everything but Russia or the broken radio. He feels like he's five and has been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing.

"When we get to my house we will order what you need to fix this immediately. And you will change my oil," says Russia. America wilts in relief.

"Sure." He will live to see another day.

Russia goes back to knitting. America counts his blessings.

X

It is a long while before America tries anything else again. He is reluctant to break the tentative peace but he is beginning to die of boredom. He can't help it. Waiting has never been one of his strong suits and waiting while doing nothing is even worse. At this point he'd even knit like Russia is doing because at least then he'd be doing something.

They aren't even close to finishing their journey at the speed the traffic is going. Russia has finished his other sock and as pulled out another fluffy ball of yarn only this time it is orange. It's still too early to tell what Russia is making with this one.

America fights the urge to take the socks and create his very own sock puppet theater. He doesn't think that would go over too well with his already-shot, mature, charismatic image.

But he's just so bored!

It takes him a while before he cracks and asks Russia for his cell phone.

"Please," says America. "I'll be super careful and everything."

"No."

"Not even to call someone."

"No."

"Wont even mess with your apps I swear!"

"No."

"Is there anything I can do to convince you?"

Russia gives America a quick once over before responding, "No."

"Uggh," America huffs . He crosses his arms in front of him and tries to pretend he is not pouting. Russia is still perfectly content to continue blissfully on with his production of knitted goods. He is an old hat at this and always uses his time wisely when it comes to being stuck in traffic. It is no big deal to him.

The cars drag on.

X

Eventually America can't take it anymore.

"Ivan," America says. "Ivan I'm hungry. Can we stop and eat and maybe this'll all blow over?" Even though he is still pouting his voice is tinged with hope. He truly is hungry and food is always a good thing and if it gets them out of the car then all will be right with the world.

"No, we are not stopping so you can eat," Russia says.

"Waa? Why not?" America responds.

"Because there is some food for you in the cooler behind your seat," says Russia.

America perks up at that.

He didn't expect that. Food is good and it's close by. That is a win in his book.

America twists around in his chair but before he can make a grab at the food Russia catches him by the arm. It is the fist time they have touched since the radio incident. Both are locked into place by the simple action.

"We are still having a nice dinner when we get to my house," says Russia before withdrawing his hand.

"O-ok," says America and returns to grabbing at the cooler behind his chair. As he twists and stretches Russia grips the steering wheel willing himself to not poke the exposed strip of flesh that appeared by America's shirt riding up. America is oblivious to the dilemma of his traveling companion. His attention is on extricating the thermos from the cooler. It is stuck and he wants to get it un-stuck and that is all he cares about at the moment.

Russia grits his teeth and tells himself what will happen if he pokes America. The man will snap forward and most likely break Russia's seat with his momentum in trying to curl up to protect his violated side. The scenario is most unfortunate and Russia really doesn't want his car anymore broken. Also, not having a seatback would be detrimental to the seated exercises that he was about to start on. They are subtle enough that America would not notice them, especially when he is preoccupied with his food.

"Haha!" says America triumphantly. He quickly spins back around brandishing the thermos like a high profile trophy. Russia has missed his chance. His car is safe from more damage (for now).

"Do not spill," Russia warns.

America nods because that is all he can do with a mouth full of warm soup. He savors it slowly by rolling the hot liquid around in his mouth. He can taste that it is homemade. That makes it even better.

Mmmm. So good.

For once the car is a content, happy place to be for all parties involved.

X

America was fidgety. It was constant and it was annoying Russia.

"If you are bored again you could try rolling down the window and talking to someone," said Russia. America looked at him quizzically and then went back to shuffling around in his seat.

"I am serious," Russia continued. "Some people have even found their true loves out here stuck in traffic."

Russia wasn't getting the reaction he had hoped for.

"Not that I want you to marry one of my children," Russia continued. "No. Maybe make a good friend, yes? Then you can visit me more often. That would be nice."

It was officially disconcerting that he had been unable to get a rise out of America.

"What is your problem?" said Russia. He grabbed onto America's shoulder to get America's attention.

America's reaction was instantaneous. Russia got slapped in the face while America's other hand went strait down to his crotch and he pinched his legs together.

Light bulb.

"You have to go to the bathroom," said Russia. It was a simple statement but it made America turn bright red.

"No," said America. He didn't sound very convinced of that matter. His hands had not left his crotch. If anything they just pressed down tighter. Well, this was certainly an interesting turn of events. Russia would even forgive America for slapping him.

"Then you should probably remove your hands from such an, inappropriate, area. What would Arthur think? Come on Alfred. If you don't have to go then you should not be so suggestive," said Russia. America progressively got redder. He shook his head 'no' and tried to turn into himself further.

"So you _do_ have to go to the bathroom," said Russia. This made up for breaking the stereo by leaps and bounds. America continued to shake his head but there was no arguing with body language.

"Really, Alfred," Russia continued. "Such a puny bladder. It hasn't been that long of a trip. And we are nearly home. Surely you can wait."

"S-stop talking," said America.

"But here you are about to wet yourself like a small child."

"No."

"Was it the soup? You drank all of it up."

"Shut up."

"It was only a small thermos of liquid Alfred. No more then 24 ounces I suspect."

"Ivan."

"You have a rather adorable potty dance. I must say."

"Ivan."

"I'm sure Arthur loved toilet training you."

"_Ivan!_"

"It is too bad that we are stuck here in the car. I'm sure you'd feel much better once you relieved yourself."

"Hng."

Enough with the fun.

It really did look like America was going to piss himself all over Russia's car. They weren't close enough to Russia's house so not only would the mess be difficult to clean but also it would be smelly in the mean time.

Russia fished a half empty water bottle from his door and slowly unscrewed the cap. America, caught off guard by the sudden lack of goading, made the mistake of looking over at Russia as he drank the water down.

"Stop. Stop. I've had to go since we left the airport but I didn't go then because it usually never takes this long to get to your house. Quit teasing me. I really have to go to the bathroom!" said America.

Russia finished the drink off with a refreshed flourish.

"So the truth comes out," said Russia.

"I will piss in your car and not care if you don't shut up now."

"Here," said Russia. He handed America the empty water bottle.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," said America.

"Of course not," said Russia. "I do not want you soiling my car and we are not close enough to my house, so you will go in the bottle."

America's whole body was tense and his eyes were shut but they flew open at Russia's suggestion. The slight loosening of his posture was enough to send him reeling forward again with a whimper.

"We're in public," America moaned.

"So. They cannot see in the car. No one will know."

"But you're here."

"And you wont be here if you go in my car. Use the bottle before you hurt yourself."

America's internal debate was very short.

His bladder gave another twinge.

It was either now or never.

"Oh god don't look," said America as he hastily grabbed the bottle. There was no helping it. Between wetting himself and going in the bottle, he'll take the bottle.

America unzipped his fly and quickly brought the bottle down to his dick.

He didn't dare look at Russia. It was just too awkward.

Even all set and ready America still couldn't go. His body screamed for release but try as he might with Russia sitting next to him his mind wouldn't give up in holding on.

And the longer he sat there with his package hanging out, the more likely Russia would look at him.

Talk about icing on the cake to a miserable day.

"Alfred," said Russia. Hearing his name out of the blue made his bowls spasm and a small stream of pee leaked into the bottle. The dribbles echoes loudly in the silent car. Of course now America had to pee even worse but he still could not find release.

"Don't look," America said.

"Alfred you are making this more awkward then it has to be. Just pretend you are playing one of your real time video games at home. I'm sure you do this all the time so your character doesn't die."

"Can we please not talk about this?" said America.

"Suit yourself but I fear that the longer I don't look at you the more obvious it will be that something is going on in the car. Other drivers might get curious."

"Fuck."

The car was silent again.

America still could not pee.

Finally after what seemed like hours of picturing flowing water America found his release. The sound echoed horribly in the car but at this point America did not care anymore.

It felt so good to finally let go and let the pressure out of his system.

With a sigh America finished off and capped the bottle. He quickly stowed himself and glanced at Russia.

"Are you done?" said Russia.

"As if you couldn't tell," mumbled America.

"True. You pee like a racehorse," said Russia. He turned back to look at America who was still holding the nearly full bottle of warm pee in his hand.

"Look," said Russia. "You almost filled up the whole thing!"

It was only then that America remembered what he was holding. He turned a horrible shade of red and quickly put the bottle down in the door's storage pocket.

"I am never going to live this down," said America.

"Nonsense," Russia said. "It will be our little secret. You have no shame. Everyone knows that already so there is no reason for me to point it out again."

America just threw his arm over his face and did his best to forget the mortification.

X

They were nearly at the end of the their trip (which doesn't mean much in terms of time) when the music started. America had been content to stew in his embarrassment. The soup had been good but it was not worth that indignity. The music however snapped him out of his trance.

The radio was broken.

Russia wasn't reacting so it wasn't his phone.

So. Random audio from nowhere. Great. America was hearing things.

"Alfred," America perked up when Russia said his name. "Would you mind carefully opening your window?"

"Sure." Then the music got louder.

"It is always nice to hear my children practice their music when stuck in traffic!" said Russia.

"Is that what that is?"

"Yes. One day I got to listen to a wonderful woman sing all of my old folk songs. It was fantastic."

"You don't say?"

If Russia said anything after that America didn't notice. He was totally fixed on the car four cars away from him with the young man belting out some Russian song to a guitar accompaniment.

It was pretty cool.

The guy even threw in a few English songs before the lane his car was in split away from Russia's car. It was a nice change of pace and made America forget that he had been stuck in a car with Russia going on five hours or so.

America continued to hum songs to himself a long while after that. Fortunately Russia didn't seem to mind too much. America was finally getting the hang of relaxing in traffic.

X

It was dark by the time they got to Russia's house. Well past dinner time but Russia promised a large banquet of food anyway. The second the car stopped America had the door open and he was walking restless circles around in the front yard.

"Sweet freedom," said America reverently as he patted the grass. "You realize that in the time it took us to get to your house I could have flown from Alaska to the far end of Florida right?"

"I am not surprised," said Russia. "Usually the daily standstill for all the people of Moscow combined is about two and a half centuries worth of time!"

America's face was priceless.

Russia opened the trunk and pulled out America's bags. No one was around so he didn't have to look burdened by the bulky items. Instead he breezed up to the front door and unlocked it.

"Oh Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"I will leave you to dispose of your water bottle."

"You said we'd never mention it again!"

X

A/N: As I said before in the opening this is based upon a BBC News article. All of the things that Russia and the other Russians in the story are doing actually happen (I read it in the papers so it must be true). Really I just wanted to try my hand at writing Ivan. Did I do all right? Alfred on the other hand is the sum of my road trip hell.

Head canon time:

America is very quick to jump the gun and be offended but he also forgives very easy too.

Russia is one of the few nations that can relate to America the best – despite having fallen from his superpower position he is fully aware of the modern reincarnation of the term unlike England and others. They share something having been in a league of their own for so long despite the animosity of that time. Ivan usually cuts Alfred a little slack because America is still the tottering king of the rock, which is a hard position to be in.

Nationhood forms a strong bond between a random assortment of seemingly unlike people. As such when they get together very little work gets done and they have more fun hanging out with people that know what it is like to be like them. Their bosses sometimes get a glimmer of this unique form of camaraderie but most don't fully realize how much time the nations spend goofing off or catching up when in "business meetings."


End file.
